


Stuck

by HandfulOfBarbie



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 06:47:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6413254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandfulOfBarbie/pseuds/HandfulOfBarbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been eight and a half years since Luke and Lorelai repaired their relationship, but are they really both "all in"? One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This story came to me this morning as I was thinking about the revival and the possibility of the Luke/Lorelai wedding that so many want to see. It's not what I wanted from the revival (although I'll take it) because I really wanted these characters to get what they wanted - the whole package - and 8.5 years is a long time to wait for that. But then it does seem true to the characters that they would get stuck, much as they were before they got together. It's just sad.
> 
> So this story is full of angst and darkness. Read with that warning and my apologies if it doesn't fully redeem itself in the end.

_ We are stuck _ , she thinks as she stares at the little velvet box that sits in the far back corner of the bottom drawer of her dresser, the box she hasn’t touched in more than two years.  _ We are stuck _ . At least she thinks they’re stuck. Maybe it’s just her. He seems perfectly content, as if he wants for nothing. But she wants. Could she call it a rut? She doesn’t know if it’s ‘a rut’, but she knows she is stuck and she thinks that  _ they _ are stuck. Maybe they have been stuck for years. Maybe they've been stuck for more than eight years. Eight years. That is how long he had pined for her before he decided to ask her out, isn't it?

Eight years, never taking more than tiny steps forward. They live in the same house. Sure, they redid the kitchen, but in the same style and mostly the same color scheme. They drive the same cars (her jeep has been completely rebuilt twice over; his truck is surely the oldest known to man literally now, not just figuratively). His diner hasn't changed much at all and neither has her inn. The town still hosts two dozen festivals a year. Taylor still drives everyone crazy. Kirk still has 53 jobs and every now and then people still whisper about whether the grumpy diner owner and bubbly (less so these days) innkeeper will ever tie the knot.

It isn't the waiting or even the slowness of it all that bothers her. She is long past those feelings of urgency (that were really born from insecurity) that had led her to blow it all up nine years ago. She knows he loves her. She knows he wants her. No, it isn’t the waiting. She could wait forever if she had forever. It is the inability to keep entropy at bay during that wait. It is the reality of windows closing, of time marching forward whether you're ready for it to or not, of opportunities with expiration dates. She is getting older. Hell, for many purposes, including one of the most important ones, she was old eight years ago, yet they’d acted like they had forever. They don't have forever. They never had forever. 

The weeks after their reconciliation had been… wonderful? Dream-like? Are those the right words? From the outside it probably looked like they had rekindled the old flame. They were lovey-dovey in private and even in public a little bit, expressing love in so many ways they didn't before the big breakup. But on the inside, she knows, they both know, that nothing had been rekindled because the fire had never gone out. It was really more about putting an end to the pain of being apart.

They were each doing okay in the weeks before the reconciliation, but that okayness seemed to rely on hope that they would get back together at some point. She was okay once she had gotten past it all. Past the extreme pain of the relationship slowly disintegrating as he shut her out of a huge part of his life, as he denied her the joy of watching him become a father, as he denied her the opportunity to get to know this beautiful creature that was part him... past the numbness of the realization that it was over, that everything she had allowed herself to hope for -- a love like one she had never felt before, the ‘whole package’ that she never really felt that she deserved, but she couldn’t help wanting desperately -- was gone… past the failed attempt to rebuild her life, to redesign it around the giant hole that she wouldn’t admit was there… Once she had untangled herself from the mess that kept pulling her under, the mess that was the life she thought would replace him, once she let go of the idea that she could be happy without him, she was  _ okay _ . But she was only okay because she had hope. She had rarely let others see that hope, but it was there, and when it wavered, she wavered.

So when hope turned to opportunity, she seized it. They seized it. They were together again in every sense of the word. They were like teenagers for a while, holding hands during town meetings, eating dinner together every night, making love at every opportunity. They even took a short vacation on his boat. 

 

When April came to visit near the end of the summer, he included her as much as he could in their activities. They shared meals and trips to museums. The three of them even spent a long weekend on the boat. Things seemed to be moving forward. 

Then daily life began to creep back in. Routines were formed. They never talked about him moving in, either, but he spent every night at her house and his things migrated slowly as he took clothes and kitchen utensils and other things over to her house and never brought them back. By Thanksgiving they had to face the fact that he lived there when a conscious decision was made that April would share Rory’s room when they were both visiting. Still, his mail went to the diner. 

His mail still goes to the diner. More than eight years later, the mailbox still reads “Gilmore”. 

She stares at the little velvet box, daring herself to pick it up. What good could it do to wish again for something she would never have? Why torture herself?  _ Why am I still thinking about this after all this time? Why can’t I just let it go? _

It was around Christmastime that first year that the wall went back up, that she started, once again, to put on a face for him, to pretend that she was happy when she was not. In all that time they hadn’t talked about the future. Neither had mentioned marriage or kids. She was waiting. Waiting for him to want what she wanted, terrified that he didn’t. Paralyzed by the fear that if she pushed him, she would lose what they had.

She wasn’t  _ un _ happy. She had him. She wanted him and she had him and she tried to be satisfied with that. If she had learned anything in that year apart, it was that she didn’t enjoy life without him. She couldn’t enjoy life without him. But she wanted more and she couldn’t help it. She wanted to be his wife. She wanted to have his children. She wanted… the whole package. And time was getting away from her.

That spring she turned 40. On her birthday, after he left for work, she took the ring box out of its hiding place and opened it. She let her finger caress the diamonds as she stared at the platinum, remembering how safe and comfortable it made her feel the first six months that she had worn it, before he postponed the wedding. She let the tears stream down her face until they became sobs. Sobbing wasn’t something she would allow herself to do, so she shut the box and stuffed it back in the drawer, then painted on a smile and faced the world with as much confidence as she could fake. 

She felt guilty for wanting more. She felt selfish. She appreciated what she had, she did. Maybe that’s why she was so hesitant to ask for more, the risk of losing him was too great. It was why she had never flirted too much with him all those years ago before they got together. He was her friend and she couldn’t risk losing her friend, so she hadn’t pushed for more. When he asked for more she didn’t hesitate, but she waited for him to ask. Then, when he pulled back, she became desperate and pushed him with disastrous results. Twice. So this time she didn’t push. Instead she tried to be content and suffered in silence when the longing overwhelmed her.

By summer she had found herself staring at that ring nearly every day and crying herself to sleep at least twice a week, silent tears while he slept beside her, oblivious. She loved him. She liked their life. He never made her feel unwanted again. He didn’t shut her out. She had a good relationship with April and he with Rory. But April was  _ his _ daughter. They were not a family. When April missed her curfew, he handled it. When April’s best friend stood her up to be with a boy, he consoled her. When April fought with her mother and ran away from her home in New Mexico, showing up on their doorstep at 11:00 one night in June, he didn’t ask for her input. And it was just as well, because what was she to April? She wasn’t just not her mother. She wasn’t even her stepmother. 

She takes the box out of the drawer and places it on the bed.  _ Does he know that I still want it? Does he know that I still have the ring? Has he ever known? _

There was a very brief moment in July of the second year when she thought about proposing to him again or at least bringing up the subject of marriage and kids. But then she remembered the pain of the breakups, the way he had completely shut down whenever she tried to push him, and she immediately nixed that idea. It needed to come from him. He needed to want those things. And he didn’t. So if she wanted him, she had to accept that she could never have  _ all _ of him, that he would never be  _ all in _ , no matter what he had promised in the beginning.

Never being happy isn’t the same as being unhappy, is it? Such a sad thought; it was hard to believe it came from the same movie as “This is where you start paying... in sweat!” Maybe it wasn’t so strange. The movie was about sacrifice and compromise. Maybe she hadn’t paid in sweat, but she had paid. She had compromised.

She opens the box and stares at the ring. No, never being happy isn’t the same as being unhappy. It has been 20 years since she walked into his diner and she knows that she wouldn’t trade any of those years for 30 without him. But still she she wants more.

As the months became years she cried less often and she stopped thinking  _ “Maybe this year.” _

On her 45th birthday she had taken the box out for the last time, or so she thought. It was the last time that she would allow herself to hope, and even that was just a hope that he would marry her. At her age, getting pregnant using her own eggs was nearly impossible. Even if she could, the probability of birth defects or miscarriage were astronomically high. Her dream of having his children was over. This time she let herself sob for a good half hour, then she put the ring away and let it go.

Or tried to. 

 

Now, two and a half years later, she is staring at it again. This time, however, she takes it out of the box and puts it in her pocket.

Two nights ago, about two weeks before Christmas, he was hanging lights in diner (something that he had started doing about five years ago to make her happy) when he lost his footing and fell off the ladder, hitting his head. He was still unconscious when she arrived at the hospital an hour later, having gotten a call from Taylor. They wouldn’t let her see him. They wouldn’t tell her anything. She wasn’t family. Hell, they hadn’t even filed for ‘domestic partnership’. For eight years they had shared a home, they shared a bed, they shared a life, but as far as the State of Connecticut was concerned, Nicole Lahey was more related to him than she was.

She sat in a chair in the waiting room, put her face in her hands, and cried.

She stayed at the hospital, unwilling to leave him there alone and determined to show the staff that she wasn’t going anywhere. When Liz arrived the next afternoon, she was able to find out his condition (no bleeding, but he remained unconscious), but still wasn’t allowed to see him. Hospital policy, they said. Finally she agreed to go home to shower and change and catch a few hours of sleep. And get her ring.

It is the morning of day three and she is dozing in the waiting room when Liz nudges her. He is awake and asking for her. She has to wait until the doctor examines him and declares him fit for visitors, but they finally let her go in.

“Hey,” she says, moving immediately to his side to take his hand and kiss him. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. They wouldn’t let me.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “Liz was here. But why would they let Liz and not you?”

She can’t keep her voice from cracking when she says, “I’m not family.”

“What?” He looks at Liz, who nods. 

“I’m not family, Luke. I’m just...” She looks at the ceiling, blinking back tears. “I’m just your roommate.”

“Oh my god,” he says, tears threatening to spill.

“It’s okay,” she says quietly. “I’m here now.”

“It’s not okay.”

“Luke, you need to relax. I’m here now.” She is sorry that she hadn’t made some excuse like she was off looking for coffee or something. She wants him to rest. They can talk about it when he’s better.

“I didn’t think. Why do I never think?” He is crying now, but she doesn’t know if he realizes it. “I’m sorry, Lorelai. I’m so sorry.”

“Luke, please. Just relax. We can’t do anything about the past and we can talk about the future later.”

“Later?” He says, squeezing her hand until it hurts. “Like in another eight years? I can’t keep doing this to you, Lorelai. We can’t keep doing this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but… Let’s get married.”

“Luke--”

“I mean it, Lorelai. Let’s get married. Now.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, they aren’t going to let me out of here for a couple of days and I don’t want to wait. If you want to have a big wedding, we can do it later, but let’s get married now.” He doesn’t stutter. His eyes never leave hers. He is serious. Then his face falls a little “...unless… unless you don’t want to. I guess I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“I do,” is her only answer. She kisses him, smiles, and uses her free hand to take the ring out of her pocket. She hands it to him, then takes out her cell phone and dials. “Kirk, it’s Lorelai. I need a favor.”


End file.
